this morning i swallowed the new amount of make-a-sturdy-ground-under-you capsules and unfortunately took it with a high amount of caffeinated tea that tasted like the drama benches in high school and being maniacally high and ruining my status with tears that hate us and it felt good to be reminded of a time not so far away that is over there but i can't touch it and i knew that i would suffer with the tremors the dosage is up but not real bad i've had worse like when the piglets are running in the field all coming for me and I have no where to run but mud

i've been a mess all morning thinking i'm going to cease walking at any given moment but i don't feel that anyone is given any moments they are often stolen moments - i never wanted to be such a thief

in drama class i should've volunteered i wanted to but i couldn't raise my eyes high enough to look hierarchy in the eye and i didn't feel like saying

that my medication was interfering -interfearing- with my ability to function like a halfway competent machine i mean human so i didn't volunteer i just sat there on the edge of the stage halfway on halfway off shivering in my sunlight-park-and-mommy sweater wondering if i was deserving of this earthquake that rattled inside me and why no one else could see it

it was hard to walk hard to talk and hard to type

i came back here alone wanting to gripe but i read and fell asleep and woke up when jamie and rob came in and i was one with jello i was one with jello i was i had a bland blank stare that was really comfortable and quite unintentional my eyes were stretched open yet i was so tired i wanted to

close them i felt really gone far away and i liked the feeling i felt drained and i wanted to write about it but i felt too tired and i was glad

but then i tottered over to this computer and typed this out in a stream of consciousness and it is saying nothing of what i wanted to say is there

another way to achieve literary greatness in the sleep and wake of depression in the ebb and flow of progression into the state called obsession with the darkness?

it isn't as sadly dark like it was this is a warped hyper color extended world i am trying to create but it doesn't stay for long maybe because i am trying to create it should i just leave it alone stay at home? become a clone? oh jesus nevermind another one of me will drive this world to her knees how do we know its feminine what are we really and how do we know

i want to write

i want to think with splendor

i want to be celebrated on my unbirthday make that my dieday yes Happy Dieday to me

Happy Dieday to me happy dieday to lisa

Happy Dieday to me

why do we get our presents and gifts all wrapped up in silk and ribbons only after we are buried far far down with the worms and the germs of other

rotting bodies? and how can we be so literary and genius if we want our minds to be so numb and painless? make me gone i want to write i want to write i want to write i want to write

- Lisa Marie Brodsky

from "Little Pool of Sadness" - an unpublished collection

copyright 2004 Lisa Marie Brodsky

Lisa Marie Brodsky

Lisa Marie Brodsky:

I'm so thrilled to have found your site. I've been

interested in the combination of psychiatry and creativity for ages. In high

school, I skipped my lunch hour to sit down on the floor of the school

library psychology section and I read the DSM IV and all the autobiographies

I could get my hands on...trying to understand. If I had your website to

look at then, I wouldn't have felt as lonely.

In a nutshell, I'm 26 years old and in

an MFA program for Poetry. I intern

at my univerity's press and have worked in bookstores since 1997.

I live in a very creative household with my fiction-writer boyfriend.

Brodsky's work has been published in The North American Review, Poetry Motel, The Atlanta Review and poetry is forthcoming in Born Magazine. 7/15/04